Fighting Free
by FortyDays
Summary: Zutara AU. "Yes, my mother may have been a waterbender but, apparently, so am I. And on this night, I swear to you that I will rise above everything you've ever taught me. I will become a force that this world has never known. I will come into such power that none will dare hurt me again."
1. Chapter One

**A/N: One hundred years ago, Fire Lord Sozin conquered the world. His first act was to outlaw waterbending and order all those possessing the ability to be executed.**

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 **Chapter One**

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I'm going to die tomorrow morning.

That's what the guards tell me, anyway, when they visit my cell. I've been in here for weeks—I know this only because I've been counting the number of times my meals come.

One day. Two days.

Four days. A week.

Two weeks.

Three.

I stopped counting after that. The hours run together, an endless train of nothingness, filled with different slants of light and the shiver of cold, wet stone, the pieces of my sanity, the disjointed whispers of my thoughts.

But tomorrow, my time ends. They're going to burn me at the stake in the central market square, for all to see. The guards tell me a crowd has already begun to gather outside.

I sit straight, the way I was always taught. My shoulders don't touch the wall. It takes me a while to realize that I'm rocking back and forth, perhaps to stay sane, perhaps just to keep warm. I hum an old lullaby too, one my mother used to sing to me when I was very little. I do my best to imitate her voice, a sweet and delicate sound, but my notes come out cracked and hoarse, nothing like what I remember. I stop trying.

It's so damp down here. Water trickles from above my door and has painted a groove into the stonewall, discolored green and black with grime. My hair is matted, and my nails are caked with blood and dirt. I want to scrub them clean. Is it strange that all I can think about on my last day is how filthy I am?

If my older brother were here, he'd say something reassuring or maybe even crack a joke. I can't stop wondering if he's okay. He hasn't come to see me.

I lower my head into my hands. How did I end up like this?

But I know how, of course. It's because I'm a murderer.

It happened several weeks earlier, on a stormy night at my father's home. I couldn't sleep. Rain fell and lightning reflected off the window of my bedchamber. But even the storm couldn't drown out the conversation from downstairs. My father and his guest were talking about me, of course. My father's late-night conversations were always about me.

I was the talk of the Southern Watertribe. Katara? they all said. Oh, wasn't her mother a bender? Don't they say she might be one too? Daughters tend to take after their mothers you know. Poor thing. Her father will have a hard time marrying her off.

No one meant because I wasn't beautiful. I'm not being arrogant, only honest. My Gran-Gran once told me that any man who'd ever laid eyes on my late mother was now waiting curiously to see how her daughter would blossom into a woman.

My older brother, Sokka, was eighteen and was the budding image of perfection. Unlike me, Sokka had inherited our mother's jovial temperament and charm. When we were very small, we'd play together in the snow and build snowmen and tiny igloos. I would sing sometimes. He would make up games.

We loved each other, once.

My father would bring Sokka new furs and boots. He would buy him exquisite weapons that arrived in port from the farthest ends of the world. He would take him out hunting and fishing; and train him in military tactics. He would remind him of how great a warrior he would become, of how far he would raise our family's standing by rising through the ranks of the empire's army.

Sokka was smart, strong, witty, and cunning. If anyone had the wherewithal to gain a favorable position within the army, it was him. He was a standout in his military training classes, and had been asked by various instructors to enlist in the army since the age of 14. Every time, my father would tell each of them to be patient, that he would not allow him to enlist until he turned eighteen. What a caring father, everyone thought.

Of course, Sokka didn't escape all of my father's cruelty. He purposely bought him boots that were tight and painful. He enjoyed seeing his hands callused and bleeding from all the training he was forced to endure.

Still. He loved him, in his own way. It's different, you see, because Sokka was his investment.

I was another story. Unlike my brother, blessed to be my father's son, I am my mother's daughter. And by her daughter, I mean this: When I was eight years old, Fire Lord Azulon's purging reached its peak and everyone in the Southern Watertribe barred their homes in a state of panic. It was no use. One day, a Fire Nation admiral burst through the doors of our home claiming to have information about a waterbender living within our walls. My parents denied every accusation, until the admiral threatened to kill me if they didn't provide a name. My father remained silent, but my mother admitted that it was her-that she was the waterbender they were looking for. They took her from the house, and killed her right outside our door. My father has hated me ever since. He disowned me and claimed that I was no child of his.

So, yes. You could say I am my mother's daughter.

Fatherless. Cursed to bear the weight of my mother's crimes.

I remember crying in her empty bedchamber many a night, wishing the Firebenders had taken my father instead.

My father and his mysterious guest were still talking downstairs. My curiosity got the best of me and I swung my legs over the side of my bed, crept toward my chamber door on light feet, and opened it a crack. Dim candlelight illuminated the hall outside. Below, my father sat across from a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair at his temples, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck in a short, fire nation style, his coat shining black and red in the light.

I opened the door a little wider, crept out into the hall, and sat, knees to my chin, along the stairs. My favorite spot. Sometimes I'd pretend I was a queen, and that I stood here on a palace balcony looking down at my groveling subjects. Now I took up my usual crouch and listened closely to the conversation downstairs

"I don't mean to insult you, Hakoada," the man said to my father. "You were once a merchant of good reputation. But that was a long time ago. I don't want to be seen doing business with a family such as yours—bad luck, you know. There's little you can offer me."

My father kept a smile on his face. The forced smile of a business transaction. "There are still people in town who work with me. I can pay you back as soon as the port traffic picks up. Watertribe furs and skins are in high demand this year—"

The man looked unimpressed. "Fire Lord Ozai is unconcerned with this territory" he replied. "The ports will be slow for years to come, I'm afraid, and with the new tax laws, your debts will only grow. How can you possibly repay me?"

My father leaned back in his chair and sighed. "There must be something I can offer you."

The man studied my father's face thoughtfully. The harsh lines of his face made me shiver. "Tell me about Katara. How many offers have you received?"

My father blushed. "Offers for Katara's hand have been slow to come."

The man smiled. "I take it, they've heard about her mother. So, no offers for your little disgrace, then."

My father's lips tightened. "Not as many as I'd like," he admitted.

"What do the others say about her?"

"The other suitors?" My father rubbed a hand across his face. "They say the same thing. It always comes back to her . . . heritage. What can I tell you, sir? No one wants the daughter of a waterbender bearing his children."

The man listened, making sympathetic sounds.

"Have you heard the latest news from the capital? Two noblemen walking home from the opera were found burned to a crisp." My father quickly tried to change tact. "Scorch marks on the wall, their bodies melted from the inside out."

I knew what my father spoke of. He was referring to a very specific group—a rare handful of teenagers with frightening abilities who dared to stand against the Phoenix Empire. They were said to be waterbenders, earthbenders, firebenders and weapons specialists alike. There was even rumored to be an airbender among them. Everyone spoke of this group in hushed whispers; most feared them and what they could do.

But I secretly held them in awe. I hated the Fire Lord and all that he stood for. He took my mother, cursing me with the life I have now. But this group dared to fight against him.

If you searched the black market, you'd find flat wooden engravings for sale, elaborately carved with their names, forbidden collectibles that supposedly meant they would protect you—or, at the least, that they would not hurt you. No matter the opinion, everyone knew their names. The Blue Spirit. The Reaper. The Windwalker. The Blind Bandit.

The Freedom Fighters.

My father continued. "All benders are capable of horrible things. I mean, look at what that firebender did to his own people. But aside from that, Katara is no bender. I would know."

The man shook his head. "I've heard that even the suitors who refuse Katara still gape at her, sick with desire." He paused. "True, her heritage is . . . unfortunate. But a beautiful girl is a beautiful girl." Something strange glinted in his eyes. My stomach twisted at the sight, and I tucked my chin tighter against my knees, as if for protection.

My father looked confused. He sat up taller in his chair. "Are you making me an offer for Katara's hand?"

The man reached into his coat to produce a small brown pouch, then tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink. As a merchant's daughter, one becomes well acquainted with money—and I could tell from the sound and from the size of the coins that the purse was filled to the brim with gold pieces. I stifled a gasp.

As my father gaped at the contents, the man leaned back. "I know of the taxes you haven't yet paid to the Fire Lord. I know of your new debts. And I will cover all of them in exchange for your daughter Katara."

My father frowned. "But you have a wife."

"I do, yes." The man paused, then added, "I never said I wanted to marry her. I am merely proposing to take her off your hands."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "You . . . want her as your mistress, then?" my father asked.

The man shrugged. "No nobleman in his right mind would make a wife of such a girl—she could not possibly attend public affairs on my arm. I have a reputation to uphold, Hakoada. But I think we can work this out. She will have a home, and you will have your gold." He raised a hand. "One condition. I want her now, not in a year. I've no patience to wait until she turns seventeen."

A strange buzzing filled my ears. No boy or girl was allowed to give themselves to another until they turned seventeen. This man was asking my father to break the law.

My father raised an eyebrow, but he didn't argue. "A mistress," he finally said. "Sir, you must know what this will do to my reputation. I might as well sell her to a brothel."

"And how is your reputation faring now?" He leaned forward. "Surely you're not insinuating my home is nothing more than a common brothel. At least your Katara would belong to a noble household."

As I watched my father lean forward, my hands began to tremble. "A mistress," he repeated

"Think quickly, Hakoada. I won't offer this again."

"Give me a moment," my father anxiously reassured him.

I don't know how long the silence lasted, but when he finally spoke again, I jumped at the sound. "Katara could be a good match for you. You're wise to see it. She is lovely, and . . . spirited."

The man looked towards the fire thoughtfully. "And I will tame her. Do we have a deal?"

I closed my eyes. My world swam in darkness—I imagined the man's face against my own, his hand on my waist, his sickening smile. Not even a wife. A mistress. The thought made me shrink from the stairs. Through a haze of numbness, I watched my father shake hands with the man. "A deal, then," he said to the man. He looked relieved of a great burden. "Tomorrow, she's yours. Just . . . keep this private. I don't want anyone knocking on my door and fining me for giving her away too young."

"No one will care." He replied, as he tightened his gloves and rose from his chair in one elegant move. My father bowed his head. "I'll come for her in the morning."

As my father escorted him to our door, I stole away into my bedchamber and stood there in the darkness, shaking. Why did my father's words still stab me in the heart? I should be used to it by now. What had he once told me? My poor Katara, he'd said, caressing my cheek with a thumb. It's a shame. Look at you. Who will ever want a cursed little girl like you?

It will be all right, I tried telling myself. At least you can leave your father behind. It won't be so bad. But even as I thought this, I felt a weight settle in my chest. I knew the truth. I was unwanted. Bad luck. I would be tossed aside the instant the man tired of me.

My gaze wandered around my bedchamber, settling finally on my window. My heartbeat stilled for a moment. Rain drew angry lines down the glass, but through it I could still see the docks where the edge of the village sloped gently into the sea. Tonight, the ocean churned in fury, and white foam crashed against the city's horizon, flooding the canals.

I continued staring out the rain-slashed window for a long while.

Tonight. Tonight was the night.

I hurried to my bed, bent down, and dragged out a sack I'd made with a bed sheet. Inside it were fine silverware, forks and knives, engraved plates, anything I could sell for food and shelter. That's another thing to love about me. I steal. I'd been stealing from around our house for months, stashing things under my bed in preparation for the day when I couldn't stand to live with my father any longer. It wasn't much, but I calculated that if I sold all of it to the right dealers, I might end up with a few gold pieces. Enough to get by, at least, for several months.

Then I rushed to my chest of clothes, pulled out an armful furs, and hurried about my chamber to collect anything of value I could find. My stone bracelet. The betrothal necklace inherited from my mother that my father did not want. I worked in feverish concentration. I added the jewelry and clothes carefully into the sack, hid it behind my bed, and pulled on my soft boots.

I settled down to wait.

An hour later, when my father retired to bed and the house stilled, I grabbed the sack. I hurried to my window and pressed my hand against it. Gingerly, I pushed the left pane aside and propped it open. The storm had calmed some, but rain still came down steadily enough to mute the sound of my footsteps. I looked over my shoulder one last time at my bedchamber door, as if I expected my father to walk in. Where are you going, Katara? he'd say. There's nothing out there for a girl like you.

I shook his voice from my head. Let him find me gone in the morning, his best chance at settling his debts. I took a deep breath, then began to climb through the open window. Cold rain lashed at my arms, prickling my skin.

"Katara?"

I whirled around at the voice. Behind me, the silhouette of a man stood in my doorway—my brother, Sokka, still rubbing sleep from sleep eyes. He stared at the open window and the sack on my shoulders, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might raise his voice and shout for our father.

But Sokka watched me quietly. I felt a pang of guilt, even as the sight of him sent a flash of resentment through my heart. Fool. Why should I have felt sorry for someone who had watched me suffer so many times before? Dad loves you, Katara, he used to say, when we were small. He just doesn't know how to show it. Why did I pity the brother who was valued?

Still, I found myself rushing to him on silent feet, and taking one of his hands in mine. He gave me a worried look. "You should go back to bed," he whispered. "You'll get in trouble if Dad finds you."

I squeezed his hand tighter, then let our foreheads touch. We stayed still for a long moment, and it seemed as if we were children again, each leaning against the other. Usually Sokka would pull away from me, knowing that Father did not like to see us close. This time, though, he stayed. As if he knew that tonight was something different. "Sokka," I whispered, "do you remember the time you lied to Dad about who tore one of his new furs?"

He nodded.

"I need you to do that for me again. Don't say a word."

He didn't reply; instead, he swallowed and looked down the hall toward our father's chambers. He did not hate him in the same way that I did, and the thought of going against his teaching—that he was too good for me, that I killed our mother, that to love me was a foolish thing—filled his eyes with guilt. Finally, he nodded. I felt as if a mantle had been lifted from my shoulders, like he was letting go of me. "Be careful out there. Stay safe. Good luck."

We exchanged a final look. You could come with me, I thought. But I know you won't. You're too loyal. Still, my heart softened for a moment. Sokka had always been a good brother. He didn't choose any of this. I do wish you a happy life. I hope you rise through the ranks and become a general. Good-bye, brother. I didn't dare wait for him to say anything else. Instead I turned away, walked to the window, and stepped onto the second-floor ledge.

I nearly slipped. The rain had turned everything slick, and my boots fought for grip against the narrow ledge. Some silverware fell out of my sack, clattering on the ground below. Don't look down. I made my way along the ledge until I reached a balcony, and there I slid down until I dangled with nothing but my trembling hands holding me in place. I closed my eye and let go.

My legs crumpled beneath me when I landed. The impact knocked the breath from my chest, and for a moment I could only lie there in front of our house, drenched in rain, muscles aching, fighting for air. Strands of my hair clung to my face. I wiped them out of my way and crawled onto my hands and knees. The rain added a reflective sheen to everything around me, as if this were all some nightmare I couldn't wake from. My focus narrowed. I needed to get out of here before my father discovered me gone.

I raced into the storm.

I ran until I had left my father's home behind and entered the edge of marketplace. The market was completely abandoned and flooded with puddles—I'd never been out in the town at an hour like this, and the emptiness of a place usually swarming with people unnerved me.

Then I heard it. The howl of dogs behind me.

I froze in my tracks. At first it seemed distant—almost entirely muted by the storm—but then, an instant later, it turned deafening. I trembled where I stood. My father. I knew he was coming; it had to be him. Had Sokka told my father after all? Perhaps he'd heard the sound of the silverware falling from the roof.

And before I could think anything else, I saw him, a sight that sent terror rushing through my blood—my father, his eyes flashing, materializing through the fog of a wet midnight. In all my years, I'd never before seen such anger on his face.

I tried to run away, but I wasn't fast enough. One moment my father was far away, and the next, he was here, his boots splashing into a puddle. His hand closed around my arm like an iron shackle.

"What are you doing, Katara?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.

I tried in vain to escape his grasp, but his hand only gripped tighter until I gasped from the pain. My father pulled hard—I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell against him. Mud splashed my face. All I could hear was the roar of rain, the darkness of his voice.

"Get up, you ungrateful little thief," he hissed in my ear, yanking me forcefully up. Then his voice turned soothing. "Come now, Katara. You're making a mess of yourself. Let me take you home."

I glared at him and pulled my arm away with all my strength. His grip slipped against the slick of rain—my skin twisted painfully against his, and for an instant, I was free.

But then I felt his hand close around a fistful of my hair. I shrieked, my hands grasping at the empty air. "So ill-tempered." he murmured, shaking his head.

"Where were you planning on going? Who else would want you? You'll never get a better offer than this. Do you realize how much humiliation I've suffered, dealing with the marriage refusals that come your way? Do you know how hard it is for me, apologizing for you?"

I screamed. I screamed with everything I had, hoping that my cries would wake the people sleeping in the buildings all around me, that they would witness this scene unfolding. Would they care? My father tightened his grip on my hair and pulled harder.

"Come home with me now," he said, pausing for a moment to stare at me. Rain ran down his cheeks. "Good girl. Your father knows best."

I gritted my teeth and stared back. "I hate you," I whispered.

My father struck me viciously across the face. Light flashed across my vision. I stumbled, then collapsed in the mud. My father still clung to my hair. He pulled so hard that I felt strands being torn from my scalp. I've gone too far, I suddenly thought through a haze of terror. I've pushed him too much. The world swam in an ocean of blood and rain. "You're a disgrace," he whispered in my ear, filling it with his smooth, icy rage. "You're going in the morning, and so help me, I'll kill you before you can ruin this deal."

Something snapped inside me. My lips curled into a snarl.

A rush of energy, a gathering of blinding light and darkest wind. Suddenly I could see everything—my father motionless before me, his snarling face a hairsbreadth away from my own, our surroundings illuminated by moonlight so brilliant that it washed the world of color, turning everything black and white. Water droplets hung in the air. A million glistening threads connected everything to everything else.

Something deep within me told me to pull on the threads. The world around us froze. The rain stopped, forming a watery dome around us.

My father's eyes widened, then darted in bewilderment at his surroundings. He released me. I fell to the ground and crawled away from him as fast as I could.

My hatred rose to new heights as I rose from the ground to look him in the eyes. "Yes, my mother was a waterbender" I gestured toward the watery dome around us. "But, apparently, so am I. And on this night, I swear to you that I will rise above everything you've ever taught me. I will become a force that this world has never known. I will come into such power that none will dare hurt me again."

Hundreds of ice daggers began to form above my father's head. My hands trembled. My father screamed, swatting desperately at the daggers and then he turned around and ran. Blindly. He smashed into a buffalo yak, tied securely to a post, and fell backward into the mud. The buffalo yak shrieked, the whites of its eyes rolling. It reared on its mighty legs, pawing for an instant at the air—

And then down came its hooves. Onto my father's chest.

My father's screams cut off abruptly. His body convulsed.

The ice daggers vanished instantly, as if they were never there in the first place. The rain suddenly grew heavy again, lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder shook my bones. The buffalo yak untangled itself from my father's broken body, trampling the corpse further. Then it tossed its body forward, ripping itself from the post and ran into the rain.

Heat and ice coursed through my veins; my muscles throbbed. I lay there in the mud, trembling, disbelieving, my gaze fixed in horror on the sight of the body lying a few feet away. My breaths came in ragged sobs, and my scalp burned in agony. Blood trickled down my face. The smell of iron filled my nose—I couldn't tell whether it came from my own wounds or my father's.

"I didn't mean it," I whispered, unsure whom I was talking to. My gaze darted up to the windows, terrified that people would be watching from every building, but no one was there. The storm drowned me out. I dragged myself away from my father's body. This is all wrong.

But that was a lie. I knew it, even then. Do you see how I take after my father? I had enjoyed every moment. "I didn't mean it!" I shrieked again, trying to drown out my inner voice. But my words only came out in a thin, reedy jumble. "I just wanted to escape—I just wanted—to get away—I didn't—I don't—"

I have no idea how long I stayed there. All I know is that, eventually, I staggered to my feet. I picked up the scattered silverware with trembling fingers, retied the sack, and ran away, leaving behind the carnage I'd created. I ran from the father I'd murdered. I escaped so quickly that I never stopped to wonder again whether or not someone had been watching me from a window.

The next day, I was able to secure passage on a ship bound for the Earth Kingdom by bartering my stolen silverware with anyone who would take them. My two days on the ship blurred together. I stayed away from people and kept to myself. But when we landed at the port city, I quickly got off, eager to start my new life. My goal was to reach Ba Sing Se. No one knew me there. I'd be safe. I'd be so far away from all of this that no one would ever find me.

I traveled on foot for 5 days until my exhaustion finally caught up to me. I crumpled in a broken, delirious heap before the gates of a farmhouse.

A woman found me. She was dressed in clean brown robes, and I remember being so taken by her motherly beauty that my heart immediately warmed to her in trust. I reached a shaking hand up to her, as if to touch her skin.

"Please," I whispered through cracked lips. "I need a place to rest."

The woman took pity on me. She cupped my face between her smooth, cool hands, studied my face for a long moment, and nodded. "Come with me, child," she said. She led me to the loft of their barn, showing me where I could sleep, and after a meal of bread and hard cheese, I immediately fell unconscious, safe in the knowledge of my shelter.

In the morning, I woke to rough hands dragging me from the hay.

I startled, trembling, and looked up to see the faces of two Fire Nation soldiers staring down at me, their white armor and robes lined with gold, their expressions hard as stone. The Fire Lord's soldiers. In desperation, I tried to summon the same power I'd felt before my father died, but this time the energy did not course through me, and no water flew through the air.

There was a man standing beside the Fire Nation men. I stared at him for a long moment before I finally believed the sight. Sokka. My older brother. There was a bruise on his cheek, turning blue and black.

"Is this your sister?" one of the soldiers asked him.

Sokka looked silently at them, refusing to acknowledge the question—but he had never been able to lie very well, and the recognition was obvious in his eyes.

The soldiers shoved him aside and focused on me. "Katara of the Southern Water Tribe," one said as they hauled me to my feet and bound my hands tightly behind my back. "By order of the Fire Lord, you are under arrest—"

"It was an accident"—I gasped in protest—"the rain, the buffalo yak—"

The man ignored me. "For the crime of waterbending and the murder of your father."

"You said if I spoke for her, you would let her go," Sokka snapped at them. "I spoke for her! She's innocent!"

Sokka looked at me, his eyes filled with terror. "I'm so sorry, Katara," he whispered in anguish. "I'm so sorry. They were on your trail—I never meant to help them—"

But you did. I turned away from him. I wanted to say to him, Save me. You have to find a way. But I couldn't find my voice. Me, me, me. Perhaps I was as selfish as my father.

That was weeks ago.

Now you know how I ended up here, shackled to the wall of a wet dungeon cell with no windows and no light, without a trial, without a soul in the world. This is how I first came to know of my abilities, how I turned to face the end of my life with the blood of my father staining my hands. His ghost keeps me company. Every time I wake up from a feverish dream, I see him standing in the corner of my cell, laughing at me. You tried to escape from me, he says, but I found you. You have lost and I have won. I tell him that I'm glad he's dead. I tell him to go away. But he stays.

It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm going to die tomorrow morning.

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 **A/N: Hey guys! I love the Zutara pairing so I'm really excited to write this. Yes, I did make Hakoada a super cruel, awful guy; but that's just how it had to be.**

 **And to clarify: The southern watertribe is a lot more modern than it was in the show, since it was conquered over 100 years ago by the Fire Nation. And instead of a chief, Hakoada was a wealthy merchant.**

 **So, what did you guys think of the first chapter? How often would you like me to update? Do you have any suggestions or questions?**

 **I can't wait to hear from you!**


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

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Footsteps in the dark corridor. They stop right outside of my cell, and through the gap in the door's bottom, an guar slides in a pan of gruel. It careers into a black puddle in the cell's corner, and dirty water splashes into the food. If you can call it such a thing.

"Your final meal," he announces through the door. I can tell that he's already walking off as he says, "Better eat up, little waterbender. We'll come for you within the hour."

His footsteps fade, then disappear altogether.

From the cell next to mine, a thin voice calls out for me. "Girl," it whispers, making me shiver. "Girl." When I don't respond, he asks, "Is it true? They say you're one of them. You're a Freedom Fighter."

Silence.

"Well?" he asks. "Are you?"

I stay quiet.

He laughs, the sound of a prisoner locked away for so long that his mind has begun to rot. "The guards say you're a waterbender. Are you?" His voice breaks off to hum a few lines of some folk song I don't recognize. "Maybe you can get me out of here. What do you think? Break me out?" His words dissolve again into a fit of laughter.

I ignore him as best as I can. A Freedom Fighter. The idea is so ridiculous, I feel a sudden urge to laugh along with my crazy dungeon mate.

Still, I try once again to summon whatever power I had that night. Again, I fail.

Hours pass. Actually, I have no idea how long it's been. All I know is that eventually I hear the footsteps of several soldiers coming down the winding stone steps. The sound grows nearer, until there is the scrape of a key in my cell's door and the creak of a rusty hinge. They're here.

Two guards enter my cell. I scramble away from them, but they grab me and pull me to my feet. They unlock my shackles, letting them fall to the floor.

I struggle with what little strength I have left. This isn't real. This is a nightmare. This isn't a nightmare. This is real.

They drag me up the stairs. One level, two levels, three. That's how far underground I was. Here, the prison comes into better view—the floors change from wet, moldy stone into polished marble, the walls decorated with pillars and tapestries and the Fire Lord's circular symbol, the phoenix. Now I can finally hear the commotion coming from outside. Shouts, chanting. My heart leaps into my throat, and suddenly I push back with my feet as hard as I can, my ruined boots squeaking in vain against the floor.

The guards yank harder on my arms, forcing me to stumble forward. "Keep moving, girl," one of them snaps at me, faceless under his mask.

Then we're stepping out of the tower, and for an instant, the world vanishes into blinding white. I squint. We must be in the central market square. Through my tearing vision, I make out an ocean of people, all of whom have come out to see me executed. The sky is a beautiful, annoying blue, the clouds blinding in their brightness. Off in the distance, a stake of black iron looms in the center of a raised wooden platform, upon which a line of soldiers wait. Even from here, I can see their circular emblems shining on their breastplates. I try harder to drag my feet.

Boos and angry shouts come from the crowd as the guards lead me closer to the execution platform. Some throw rotten fruit at me, while others spit insults and curses at my face. They wear rags, torn shoes, and dirty frocks. So many poor and desperate, come to see me suffer in order to distract themselves from their own hungry lives. I keep my gaze down. The world is a blur, and I cannot think. Before me, the stake that looked so far away now draws steadily nearer.

"Monster!" someone yells at me.

I'm hit in the face with something small and sharp. A pebble, I think. "Waterbending scum!"

"Bringer of bad fortune!"

"Abomination!"

I keep my eyes closed as tightly as I can, but in my mind, everyone in the square looks like my father and they all have his voice. I hate you all. I want peace and quiet. Something stirs inside me—I try to grab at it—but the energy disappears immediately. My breath starts to come in ragged gasps.

I don't know how long it takes for us to reach the platform, but it startles me when we do. I'm so weak at this point that I can't go up the stairs. One of the guards finally picks me up and swings me roughly over his shoulder. He sets me down at the top of the platform, and then forces me toward the iron stake.

The stake is made of black iron, a dozen times as thick as a man's arm, and a noose hangs from its top. Chains for hands and feet dangle from the stake's sides. Piles of wood hide the bottom from view. I see it all in a cloudy haze.

They shove me against the stake—they clap the chains onto my wrists and ankles, and loop the noose around my neck. Some in the crowd continue to chant curses at me. Others throw rocks. I glance uneasily at the roofs that surround the square. The chains feel cold against my skin. I reach out in vain, again and again, in an attempt to call on something that can save me. My chains rattle from my trembling.

As I look at the other soldiers, my gaze settles on the oldest of them. He stands front and center on the platform, his shoulders squared and chin high, his hands folded behind his back. All I can see of his face is his profile.

"Admiral Zhao," one of the other soldiers now introduces him with formal flair.

Admiral Zhao? I look at him again. One of the Fire Lord's admirals has come to see me die?

Zhao approaches me now with calm, confident steps. I shrink away from him until my back is pressed solidly against the iron stake. My chains clink against each other. He lowers his head to meet my gaze. His red armor is embellished with more gold than the others I've seen, definitely clothing befitting his status. He's middle-aged. His hair is the grey and thinning. He bears side-burns on either side of his face. But what strikes me are his eyes, his quite ordinary Fire Nation eyes. But something about them sends a chill down my spine. There is madness in those eyes, something violent and savage.

He uses one callused hand to brush bloody strands of my hair from my face, and then lifts my chin. He studies my face. The edges of his mouth tilt up into a strange, nearly sympathetic grin.

"What a shame," he says. "You are such a pretty little thing."

I jerk my chin out of his grasp.

"A temperamental one too." His words drip with amusement.

He steps away from me, turns to the crowd, and raises his arms to call for silence. "Settle now, my friends! I'm sure we're all excited." When the crowd's noise fades to a hush, he straightens, then clears his throat. His words ring out across the square. "Some of you may have noticed a recent rash of crimes on our streets. Crimes committed by people—common vandals—that dare to stand against the empire. Some of you have taken to calling these new outlaws 'Freedom Fighters,' as if they're exceptional, worth something. I've come here today to remind you all that they are dangerous. They are murderers, eager to kill their own loved ones. They have no regard for law and order."

Zhao glances back at me. The square has fallen deathly silent now. "Let me reassure you: When we find these criminals, we will bring them to justice. Treason must be punished." He scans the crowd. "The Guard is here to protect you. Let this be a warning to you all."

I struggle feebly against my chains. My legs are shaking violently. I want to hide my body from all of these people, hide my flaws from their curious eyes. Is Sokka somewhere in this crowd? I scan the faces for him, then look up toward the sky. It's such a beautiful day—how can the sky possibly be this blue? Something wet rolls down my cheek. My lip quivers.

Tui and La, give me strength. I am so afraid.

Zhao now lights a flame in his palm and turns to me. The sight of the fire sends a greater terror through my veins. My struggles turn frantic. What kind of pain must it be to let fire consume your entire body?

He touches his fingers to his forehead in a formal gesture of farewell. Then he tosses shoots the fire onto the pile of wood at my feet. It sends up a shower of sparks, and immediately the dry kindling catches fire. The crowd erupts with cheers.

Rage surges through me, mixing with my fear. I'm not dying here today.

This time, I reach deep into my mind and finally grasp the strange power I've been searching for. My heart closes desperately around it.

The world stops.

Dark clouds gather in the sky as rain begins to pour down in torrents. Zhao's smile wavers as he whirls around to look at me. The crowd stills, confused.

Then something rips open inside my chest. The world snaps back into place—the flames roar against the wood. The rain begins to pour harder than before. It's icy and harsh. It rains everywhere and on everyone except for me.

I can't catch my breath. I don't know how to make it stop.

The flames lick my feet, their heat searing me. It's coming for me—it's going to devour me.

One guard, his clothes drenched from the downpour, points his sword in my direction. He lurches toward me. I find my last reserves of strength and pull as hard as I can against my chains. Hot blood trickles down my wrists. As I struggle, he draws closer.

Suddenly—

A rush of wind. Blue and white. The fire at my feet flickers out into curls of smoke.

Something streaks across my vision. A figure appears between me and the oncoming soldier, moving with deadly grace. It's a boy, I think. Who is this? He is clad in a whirlwind of black, and a grinning blue mask covers his entire face. He crouches in front of me, every line of his body tense, his focus entirely on the soldier. A dao sword gleams in each of his hands.

The guard skids to a halt before him. Uncertainty darts across his eyes. "Stand aside," he snaps at the newcomer.

The masked boy cocks his head to one side. "How impolite," he mocks, his voice velvet and deep. Even in the midst of chaos, I can hear him.

The soldier lunges at him with his sword, but the boy dances out of its path and strikes with one of his. It buries itself deep into the soldier's body. The man's eyes bulge—he lets out a squeal like a dying pig. I'm too stunned to utter a sound.

Soldiers see the battle and rush to their fallen comrade. They draw their swords at the boy. He just nods at them, taunting them to come closer. When they do, he slips through them like water between rocks, his body a streak of motion, blades flashing silver. One of the guards nearly cuts him in half with a swing of his sword, but the boy slices the man's hand clean off. The sword clatters to the ground.

When I look harder, I notice that other masked figures flicker among the soldiers. He didn't come here alone.

"It's the Blue Spirit!" Zhao shouts, pointing at the boy with a drawn sword. He starts heading toward us. His eyes are mad with glee. "Seize him!"

That name. I'd seen it before on the freedom Fighters carvings. The Blue Spirit. He's one of them.

More soldiers rush up the platform. The boy pauses for a moment to look at them, his blades dripping with blood. Then he straightens, lifts one arm high over his head, and sweeps it down again in a cutting arc.

A column of fire explodes from his hands, slicing a line across the platform and dividing the soldiers from us with a wall of flame stretching high into the blackened sky. Shouts of terror come from behind the fiery curtain.

The boy approaches me. I stare in fright at his devilish mask, the outline of his features lit by the inferno behind him. The only part of his face not hidden by his mask are his eyes—hard, golden as the Sun, alight with fire.

He doesn't say a word. Instead, he kneels at my feet, then grabs the chains that shackle my ankles to the stake. The chains in his grasp turn red, then white hot. They quickly melt, leaving my legs freed. He straightens and does the same to the noose around my neck, then to the chains binding my wrists.

Black scorch marks on the walls. Bodies melted from the inside out.

My arm shackles break. Immediately I collapse, too weak to hold myself up, but the boy catches me and lifts me effortlessly into his arms. I tense, half expecting him to sear my skin. He smells like smoke, and heat emanates from every inch of his body. My head leans wearily against his chest. I'm too tired to fight, but I still try. My surroundings swim in an ocean of darkness.

The boy brings his face close to mine. "Stay still," he whispers into my ear. "And hold on."

"I can walk," I find myself muttering, but my words slur together and I'm too exhausted to think clearly. I think he's taking me away from this place, but I can't concentrate.

Slowly, darkness overtakes my sight.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! That was a quick update, but in all honesty, it was only because I already had this chapter written and because of all the fantastic reviews! It was so great reading all those amazing, thoughtful reviews today. I love writing this story, but reading your thoughts and opinions makes it even better. :) I decided that my regular update day would be Friday. I thought I'd call it Fighting Free Fridays. xD (Ok, that may have been lame but I like it.)**

 **Aside from that, I feel like the summary for this fanfic could use some improvement. If any of you have any suggestions, please let me know.**

 **I hope you liked this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you!**

 **Review Replies:**

 _Guest 1: This is really really good! Please update soon!_  
Awwwhhh thanks. I'm so glad you like it so far! :)

 _Meadow: I think for an AU story this is a good start. There's a lot of intrigue on where you might take this story. I do think Hakoda should have been written this way, but that is a minor mishap (no big deal). I do regret that Hakoda is evil in this, because in the series he was rather loving toward his children. For the coming chapters, it would help if you show more details (not too much) into each characters' personality especially the protagonist's (expressions, emotions, feelings in terms of actions they take or choices they make, etc.) it gets the reader more into the characters plight and motives. So far I like where you are going with this and I can't wait to see how you continue!  
_ Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I hated writing Hakoda as a villain too, because he was just so amazing in the show. But in order for me to to do everything I wanted to do for this story, he had to be. Thanks for the suggestion! I'll definitely try to do that in future chapters. And I'm glad you like the stroy so far!

 _Moonrider: I'm interested to see where this is going! Poor Katara.. ; _ ;_  
I'm glad you are! And don't worry. Katara's situation will be looking up soon.

 _Guest 2: Ok wow this is really great! I love this AU. Freedom Fighters? Blue Spirit(Obiously Zuko) Blind Bandit(Toph obvi lol) The Reaper(hmmm...Idk who omg lol) The Windwalker(hmm Aang?) I can't wait for the next chapter! Poor Katara... I hope she'll be save before she'll die.  
_ Ahh I'm so happy that you guessed these! I can't verify their identities right now, but you're definitely in the right ball park. I guess all of them are pretty obvious except for the Reaper. But you all should be finding out who he is within the next 1-2 chapters.

 _Ana-DaughterofHades: My God, this is so good. Your writing style is amazing, and I can't wait to see how you write the Zutara pairing. I love the story/plot so far! Can the Blue Spirit come and save her? Honestly when ever you can update is what matters, but once a week would probably be good or sooner. I need to read more! I do have one question, was Katara's mother really a waterbender or was she just covering so they wouldn't kill Katara?  
_ :O Thank you so much! I'm seriously flattered. Haha it looks like your request was answered this chapter. And to answer you question: Nope, Kya wasn't a waterbender. She only claimed she was to save Katara's life.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

I bolt awake, a silent scream on my tongue. My head throbs and dark tides churn in my stomach. I squint in the light. Where am I? Sunlight slants into my unfamiliar bedchamber from arched windows, filling the space with a cream-colored haze. On a nearby table, an open scroll lies beside a bowl of ink. I shift gingerly, then realize I'm lying in a bed piled high with blankets and pillows. I blink, disoriented for a moment.

Perhaps I died. This room doesn't really look anything like the Spirit World, though. What had happened at the burning? I remember the Guards lined up on the platform, and my hands struggling against iron shackles. I look down at my hands—white bandages cover both of my wrists, and when I move them, I can feel the burn of chafed skin underneath. My torn, dirty clothes are gone now, replaced by a clean silk robe of green and gold. Who cleaned and changed me? I touch my head, then wince. Someone also wrapped a cloth tightly around my head, right where my father had pulled at my hair, and when I gingerly comb a hand through my hair, I realize that it's been scrubbed clean of its filth. I frown, trying to remember more.

Zhao, one of the Phoenix King's admirals. A beautiful, blue day. There were the iron stakes, the soldiers, and the lit torch. They had thrown the torch onto the pile of wood at my feet.

And then I made it rain. My eyes widens as the memory comes rushing back.

A knock at my chamber door startles me. "Come in," I call out, surprised at the sound of my voice. It feels strange to give orders in a bedchamber that isn't my own.

The door opens. A young maid peers inside. When she sees me, she brightens and comes bustling in, holding a tray laden with food and a cup of tea. Jasmine tea, still giving off warm clouds of steam; a thick stew swimming with chunks of meat and potatoes. The rich smell of it sends my head spinning—I haven't eaten real food in weeks. I must look amazed at the sight of it, because she smiles at me.

"Our patron is a very wealthy man," she explains. She sets the tray on the dresser next to my bed and checks my bandages.

"I'll send word that you're awake," she says as she carefully unwinds the bandage on my head. "You look much better after a few days' rest."

Everything she says confuses me. "Send word to whom? How long have I been asleep?"

The servant blushes. "I'm sorry, Lady Katara," she replies. So. She also knows my name. "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you. You're safe, rest assured, and he should be here shortly to explain everything to you." She pauses to reach toward the tray. "Have a bite to eat. You must be starving."

Hungry as I am, I hesitate to eat her offering. The fact that she seems to be treating my injuries doesn't explain what she's healing me for. I think back to the woman who took me in after that night, how I thought she would help me. How she threw me instead to the Guard. Who knows what poisons might be in this food? "I'm not hungry," I lie with a polite smile. "I'm sure I'll feel up to it soon."

She returns my smile, and I think I see a hint of sympathy behind it. "You don't need to pretend," she replies, patting my hand. "I'll leave the tray here for when you're ready."

She pauses at the sound of footsteps down the hall. "That must be him. He must already know," she says. She releases my hand and offers me a quick bow. Then she hurries toward the door. But before she can leave, a boy steps inside.

Something about him looks familiar. An instant later, I realize I recognize his eyes—golden as the Sun, with thick lashes. This is my mysterious savior. Now, instead of wearing the blue mask and black coverings, he's clad in a simple green and gold robe, like me. He's tall. He has the pale skin of someone born and bred in the Fire Nation, and his cheekbones are high, his face narrow and beautiful. His hair is a rich shade of black.

The maid curtsies low for him and mumbles something I can't quite catch. Her face flushes scarlet. The tone she uses now is distinctly different from the tone she'd just used with me—where before she seemed relaxed, she now sounds meek and nervous.

The boy nods once in return. The maid needs no second dismissal; she curtsies again and immediately scurries into the hall. My unease grows. After all, I saw him toy with an entire squadron of guards, grown men trained in the art of war, with no effort at all.

He walks around the chamber with that same deadly grace I remember. When he sees me struggling to a better sitting position, he waves one hand in nonchalance.

"Please," he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. "Relax." I now recognize his voice too, soft and deep, sophisticated, a layer of velvet hiding secrets. He seats himself in a wooden chair near the edge of my bed. Here he leans back and stretches out his body and rests his chin against one hand. He doesn't smile.

"You're part Northern Water Tribe," he says after a moment of silence.

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Katara is a Northern Watertribe name, not a Southern one."

Why does this boy know so much about the Watertribes? Katara is not a common Southern watertribe name. "There are many Northern immigrants in the southern tribe," I finally answer.

His idle chitchat sounds strange to me after all that's happened. It makes me uneasy.

He studies me with quiet curiosity. A thin trickle of sweat rolls down my back. I get the vague sense again that I've seen him somewhere before, somewhere other than the burning. "You must be wondering where you are, _little waterbender_."

"Yes, please," I reply, sweetening my words to let him know that I'm harmless. "I'd be grateful to know." The last thing I need is for a killer like him to dislike me.

His expression remains distant and guarded. "You're in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se."

I catch my breath. "Ba Sing Se?" The capital of the capital of the Earth Kingdom- the place I'd originally wanted to escape to. I have an urge to rush out of bed and look out the open window at this fabled city, but I force myself to keep my focus on the boy seated across from me, to hide my sudden excitement.

"And who are you?" I say to him.

He bows his head once. "Zuko," he replies.

"They called you . . . that is, at the burning . . . they said you're the Blue Spirit."

"I'm also known as that, yes."

The hairs rise on the back of my neck. "Why did you save me?"

His face relaxes for the first time as a small, amused smile emerges on his lips. "Some would thank me first."

"Thank you. Why did you save me?"

The intensity of Zuko's stare turns my cheeks pink. "Let me ease you into that answer." He uncrosses his legs and leans forward. "The morning of your burning. Was that the first time you've ever bended?"

I pause before I answer. Should I lie? But then he would know—he'd been there at my burning; he knew what I'd been arrested for. So I decide to tell the truth. "No."

He considers my answer for a moment. Then he holds one of his hands out to me.

He snaps his fingers.

A small flame bursts to life on his fingertips, licking hungrily at the air above it. Violent memories of my execution day flash through my mind. I shrink away from the fire in terror. The wall of flames he pulled from midair during my burning.

Zuko twists his wrist, and the flame dies out, leaving only a tiny wisp of smoke. My heart beats weakly.

"When I was eight years old," he says, "my mother went missing. I was raised by a father who hated my guts and a sister that lived to torment me. I may be Fire Nation but I, too, have suffered." He looks down at his hands, then back to me. "What's your story?"

I open my mouth, then close it. "That's a personal thing to tell someone you just met," I manage to reply.

He meets my stare with unwavering calm. "I'm not telling you so that you can get to know me," he says. I blush against my will. "I'm telling you to offer you a deal."

"You're one of . . ."

"And you could be too," Zuko says. "You're a waterbender. Needless to say, you caught my attention." When he sees my skeptical look, he continues, "We thought that all of your kind had been killed. You're the first one we've caught word of in awhile."

Zuko waits patiently for me to speak again. I don't know how much time passes before I finally murmur, "I was seven years old when my mother was killed outside our front door for being a waterbender." I hesitate. "I've only bended twice before. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary during my childhood."

He nods. "Some manifest their bending later than others. But I understand your pain and frustration, Katara. All of us understand what it is like to suffer-to lose."

"All of us?" I ask. My mind wanders again to the black market's wooden carvings, to the growing rumors of the Freedom Fighters. "There are others?"

"Yes. From around the world."

The Windwalker. The Blind Bandit. The Reaper. "Who are they? How many?"

"Few, but growing."

"So. You're a Freedom Fighter." There. I've said it aloud.

"A name the people invented to refer to our cause. The Phoenix King hates it." Zuko smiles, a lazy expression of mischief. "I am the leader of the Freedom Fighters, a group of talented benders and fighters whose sole purpose is to end the reign of Ozai." His eyes harden. "And destroy him."

His words remind me of the strange whispers that have come in my dreams—something dark and vengeful, tempting and powerful. A weight presses on my chest. I am afraid. Intrigued.

"What will you do?" I whisper.

Zuko leans back and looks out the window. "We will seize the throne, of course." He sounds almost indifferent, like he's talking about his breakfast.

He wants to kill the Phoenix King? What about the Guard? "That's impossible," I breathe.

He gives me a sideways look, something simultaneously curious and threatening. "Is it?"

My skin tingles. I peer closer at him. Then, suddenly, I cover my mouth with one hand. I know where I've seen him before.

"You—" I stammer. "You're the prince."

No wonder he looks familiar. I'd seen many portraits of the Empire's firstborn prince as a child. He was the crown prince back then, our future king. The word was that he had nearly died in some sort of accident. He came out of it badly injured and was deemed unfit to be heir to the throne. That was the last we all heard about him, really. I see now that none of these rumors are true and I want, so badly, to ask what really happened. But I decide against it.

I lower my gaze. "Your Highness," I say, bowing my head.

Zuko replies with a single, subtle nod.

My hands start to tremble. Now I understand. He is assembling a team, a team to help him reclaim his birthright.

Zuko leans close enough for me to see slashes of a brilliant gold in his eyes. "I make you this offer, Katara. You can spend the rest of your life on the run, friendless and alone, always fearful of the Guard finding you and bringing you to justice for a crime you did not commit. Or we can see if you belong with us. There is a rhythm and science to controlling your bending. There's reason behind the chaos. If you wish, you can learn control. And you will be well paid for it."

When I stay silent, Zuko lifts one of his hands and touches my chin. "How many times have you been frightened and alone?" he whispers.

Too many times.

"Then let me tell you a secret." He shifts so that his lips are close to my ear. A shiver dances down my spine. "You are not weak. You are powerful. That's why the Phoenix King fears you and your kind. Because your water can smother his flames."

A million thoughts run through my mind—memories of my childhood, visions of my father and my brother, of the Guard's dungeons, the iron stake, Zhao's leering eyes, the crowd chanting against me. I remember how I always crouched at the top of my stairs, pretending to rule from on high. I can rise above all of this, if I become one of them. They can keep me safe.

Suddenly, in the presence of this Freedom Fighter, the power of the Phoenix Empire seems very far away.

I can tell that Zuko is watching how my hair and lashes shift colors ever so slightly with the light. His gaze lingers where my hair lies on the side of my face. He reaches out a hand. It falters there, as if waiting for me to shy away, but I stay very still until he finally touches my hair and tucks it carefully away from my face. Heat rushes instantly from his fingertips through my body, a thrilling sensation that sends my heart pounding.

He says nothing for a while. "Embrace your bending," he says softly. "It will become an asset. And if you become one of us, I will teach you to wield it like an assassin wields a knife." His eyes narrow. His subtle smile turns dangerous. "So. Tell me, _little waterbender_. Do you want to punish those who have wronged you?"

* * *

 **A/N: And true to my word, I've updated! :D Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, as always it was amazing hearing from you. I've decided to stop replying to reviews at the end, it tends to make the chapter a lot lengthier than they should be. If you have any pressing questions, please put them in all caps at the end of your review. I'll be sure to read and answer. FYI: Zuko is scarless for now.**

 **'Till next Friday!**


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

For a week, I never leave my bedchamber. I float in and out of consciousness, waking up only to food brought daily into my room, and to let the maid change my robe and bandages. I've learned her name-Song.

Sometimes Zuko checks in on me, his face expressionless, but no one aside from him and Song visit. No more information about the Freedom Fighters. What they'll do with me now, I have no idea.

More days pass. I imagine what Sokka is doing right now, and whether he's wondering the same about me. Whether he's safe or not. Whether he's searching for me, or moving on with his life.

By the next full moon, I've recovered enough to go without bandages. The chafing on my wrists and ankles has faded into faint bruises, and the swelling in my cheek has disappeared, returning my face to normal. I'm thinner, though, and my hair has turned into a mess of knots, the spot where my father pulled at my scalp still tender. I study myself in front of the mirror every night, watching how the candlelight splashes orange on my face.

I look the same. I also look like a complete stranger.

Voices outside my bedroom pull me out of my sleep and into the gold of morning light. I lie very still, listening to the conversation that drifts in through the door.

I recognize the speakers immediately. Zuko and Song.

"—business to attend to. Katara. How is she?"

"Much better." A pause. "What should I do with her today, Your Highness? She is well now, and growing restless. Shall I take her around the shop?"

A brief pause. I imagine Zuko clenching his swords, his face turned away from Song, looking as disinterested as he sounds. Finally:

"Bring her to Uncle."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The conversation ends there. I hear footsteps echoing down the hall outside, then fading away and disappearing altogether. A strange disappointment hits me at the thought that Zuko won't be around. I'd hoped to ask him more questions. The shop, that's what Song had called this building where we're all staying. What kind of shop? What shop is this large? Who is Uncle?

I stay in bed and wait until Song bustles in. "Good morning, Lady Katara," she says from behind an armful of silks and a bowl of steaming water. "Look at that! Suck a spark in your eyes. Lovely."

How odd, someone complimenting me all the time and catering to my every whim. But I smile my thanks. As she scrubs me all over and then dresses me in the white and blue shift, I comb strands of hair across my face. I wince when she runs a brush along the injured part of my scalp.

Finally, we're ready. She guides me toward the door, and I take a deep breath as I step out of my bedroom for the first time.

We head down a narrow hallway that branches into two. As we walk, I try to think of something to say to Song—but every time I open my mouth, she smiles politely at me and then looks away in disinterest. I decide to stay quiet. We take another turn, and then abruptly stop before what seems like a solid wall and a line of pillars.

Song runs a hand along one side of a pillar, then pushes against the wall. I watch, stunned, as the wall swings aside to reveal a new hall behind it. "Come, lady Katara," she says over her shoulder. Dumbstruck, I follow her. The wall closes behind us, as if nothing had ever existed beyond it.

The longer we walk, the more curious I grow. The layout makes sense, of course. If this is a place where the Freedom Fighters stay—assassins wanted by the Empire—then they wouldn't have a door you could simply enter and exit straight from the street. The Freedom Fighters are a secret hidden behind the walls of another building. But what is this shop?

Song finally stops at a tall set of doors at the end of a hall. I suck in my breath. Now I know where I am.

This place is a tea shop?

The maid pulls the double doors open. We step into a gloriously decorated dining area with a door along its walls that likely leads into an office. Part of the room is open to a lush courtyard. Translucent lengths of silk drape low from the ceiling, stirring slightly, and trails of silver chimes sing in the breeze. The scent of jasmine hangs on the air.

Song knocks on the wooden door.

"Yes?" someone answers. Even muffled through the doorway, I can tell how unusually ancient that voice sounds.

Song bows her head, even though there's no one but me to witness it. "Lady Katara is here to see you."

Silence. Then I hear the soft shuffle of feet, and a moment later, the door opens. I find myself staring up at a kind looking old man.

Song nods a hurried farewell to us both, then disappears down the hall, leaving us alone. The old man smiles at me. "It's good to meet you, Katara. I'm Iroh. But you may call me Uncle."

"No one told me this place was a . . . a tea shop," I say.

"The Jasmine Dragon," Iroh specifies. "We have the best tea in all of Ba Sing Se."

"The Jasmine Dragon," I echo.

"Come, my child, sit with me. I have a few things to discuss with you." We move towards two chairs at the edge of his office.

"Now, this process can be very challenging for even the strongest of wills. Are you prepared to accept the challenges that come with being a Freedom Fighter? Do you go into this process willingly?"

"Yes" I answer simply.

"Well" Iroh sighs. "That will be all."

"Wait, that's it? There's nothing else?"

"My nephew's techniques may be a little unorthodox, but they are effective. There is nothing I can tell you that you will not discover soon enough."

"Your nephew? And what techniques? What am I-"

"Song!" He calls out. "Please escort Lady Katara to the others."

"But you haven't answered any of my questions. I don't really even know who you are."

"I am but a humble tea maker, Lady Katara." He smiles at me. "If you ever need someone to talk to, my doors are always open."

At that moment, Song steps into the room gesturing for me to follow behind her. When we are far enough away from Iroh, I dare to speak to her. "Who was that kind old man that spoke in riddles?"

"You must not speak of Master Iroh in such a disrespectful manner." She chastises. "He owns this tea shop and is uncle to the prince. Not to mention, he is said to be one of the most dangerous firebenders in the world."

"Are we speaking about the same old man? He seemed so jovial and kind. Nothing like those-"

"That is the first lesson you should learn here," she interrupts. "Many things are not as they appear to be."

We walk the rest of the way in cold silence. We continue down a tunnel until the darkness swallows us. Our footsteps echo. As we go, the ceiling seems to rise higher and higher. A cold, damp smell fills the air.

"How far does this go?" I whisper.

"Below the streets of Ba Sing Se lie the crystal catacombs."

The catacombs. I shiver.

"These tunnels lead all across the city," she continues. "There are so many tunnels of them under the city that a great number have been forgotten over the ages."

We arrive at a large slab of rock. I think we've reached a dead end when Song begins knocking against it. Within a few moments, the earth is rumbling as the slab of rock seemingly melts into the ground. So, her knocks were a password.

I stare into the barely lit room of the catacombs, almost paralyzed with fear.

"Be brave," Song whispers. Then she nudges me forward and begins to walk away.

An enormous cavern the size of a ballroom looms before me. Glowing green gems on the walls illuminate pools of water that have collected along the floor. The walls are lined with stone archways and pillars that look like they were carved centuries ago, most standing tall, some collapsed and scattered on the ground. Glowing reflections of pale light on the water float, webbed and shifting, against the stone. Everything takes on a greenish cast in here. I can hear the drip of water coming from somewhere far away.

But what really catches my attention is the small half circle of people waiting down here for me. Aside from Zuko, there are three of them. Each is turned in my direction. Their expressions are hard to read, eerie in the dim light. I try to gauge their ages. They must be about my age. One guy is tall and muscular, a piece of straw between his teeth, two hooked swords hang from his sides that seem like they could rip a man to pieces. Beside him is a boy who looks willowy and thin, with a hand resting easily on a staff. He's the only one who nods at me in greeting. A big-eyed lemur monkey perches on his shoulder. I smile back hesitantly, my stare fixed nervously on the lemur monkey. Beside him stands a girl who looks small and slight. She crosses her arms and regards me with a slight tilt to her head, and her eyes seem cold and curious. She appears to be looking at me with milky green eyes, but not really looking at me at all. She's blind, I realize. My smile fades.

Front and center before them stands Zuko, his hands folded behind his back, and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on me. Gone is the hint of mischief in him that I saw when we first talked in my chamber. Today, his expression is hard and unforgiving, the young prince replaced with a cold-blooded assassin. The cavern's strange lighting casts a shadow over his eyes.

I stop a few feet away from them. Zuko addresses the group. "This is Katara," he says, his voice clear and dtermined. "Our newest potential recruit. She's a waterbender."

I feel I should speak, but I'm not sure what to say. So I simply face them with as much courage as I can muster.

Zuko takes a step closer to me. The others remain still. "You are the first waterbending recruit we've had. But you have only bended when you have feared for your life." He narrows his eyes. "Today, we will attempt to access that fear and find a way for you to call upon your bending as you wish. Do you accept?"

Do I have a choice? After a moment's silence, I lift my chin. "Yes, Your Highness."

Zuko gives me an approving nod. "Then we shall use everything within our powers to evoke yours."

The fact that I'm standing alone sends a spike of uncertainty through my chest. The others talk in low voices among themselves. I look around the half circle of their faces, searching for help, but the only kindness I get comes from the boy with the lemur monkey on his shoulder. He sees my anxiety and gives me a subtle, encouraging nod. I try to latch on to that.

Zuko raises one hand in the air. "Let's begin." Then he snaps his fingers—and every torchlight in the cavern flickers out at once.

The room goes dark, lit only by the hazy light of the gems.

For a second, I panic. I feel completely blind. I look wildly around, blinking. Nothing but silence. Then, occasionally, a gust of cold wind—a murmur of breath—an echoing footstep. My heart pounds. Please, let there be a little light. I squint hard into the darkness, trying to force my sight to adjust.

Right as I'm able to make out the faint outlines of the cavern floor, I notice that all of the Fighters are gone.

Suddenly, Zuko's voice comes from somewhere in the darkness. "Reaper. Bandit." Its deepness now frightens me.

I tense. Nothing happens.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground beneath me begins to shake. So much so, that I can barely keep my balance. And small rocks begin to fall from the ceiling ahead, obscuring what little vision I did have. I use my arms to cover my head and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Someone large shoves me violently backward. I go flying, then fall hard to the ground. The blow knocks all the wind out of me. I gasp for air. A sharp metal edge slices across my upper arm—I cry out, my arms flying up in defense, but another cut slits open the skin of my other arm. Warm blood trickles out. I turn my head frantically from side to side. Where is my attacker? I can't see a thing. Someone kicks me in the back. I arch at the sharp pain. Another kick—and then the feeling of rough hands grabbing me by my robe, hauling me up in the air. I grasp desperately for my bending, wishing I could pull it from deep within. But nothing happens. As I struggle, a low growl of a voice comes from somewhere in front of my face.

"What waterbender?" Reaper snaps. "She's weak."

I clench my teeth and struggle, kicking out with my legs. I strike only air, and collapse to the floor.

One lantern flickers on in the cavern—its glow catches me off guard—and I squint in its direction. I glance around. A short distance away is the large boy, who must be Reaper, and the girl with the milky eyes. Elsewhere, standing by pillars and walls in the shadows, I notice others. Thin trickles of blood drip down my arms. The cuts look smaller than I expect, considering how much they sting. They're not even trying, I think feverishly. They're toying with me.

The light vanishes. My vision adjusts faster this time—and in the darkness, I can see the faint silhouette of the Reaper crouching. He attacks again. This time, he rushes at me with terrifying speed and disappears from view right before he can reach me.

He materializes on my right side. Then he catches me around the neck before I can stop him. His arm tightens, choking me. I struggle. "Pathetic," he says.

I throw an elbow as hard as I can. He must not have expected me to fight back, because I hit him hard in his throat. He gags, releasing me again. I fall to my knees, gasping. Reaper whirls around, his eyes narrowed at me in rage, and I brace myself for another attack.

"Enough," Zuko says quietly. The word is a low, disapproving command that emerges from the shadows.

Reaper steps away from me. I crumple in relief, sucking up air in the darkness. The torchlights all flicker on again. We stare at each other—the Fighter's eyes green and gruff, mine wide and stricken. I don't feel anything in my chest except for the pounding of my heart.

Then Reaper straightens and sheathes his blades. He doesn't bother helping me up. "Weakling," he says, his voice full of disdain. "Should've left you to the Guard and saved us all the trouble." He turns away from me.

A spark of anger shoots through me. I imagine what it would be like if I strangled him in return, my ice daggers piercing every inch of his body and my water drowning him. "Coward," I whisper to his back. He doesn't hear me, but the short girl—The Blind Bandit, I suppose—does. She blinks.

A moment later, Zuko raises his voice. "Windwalker."

Windwalker? I look around the cavern, searching for my next opponent. Finally, I catch a glimpse of him. He's the tall, friendly guy, the one with the shaved head and blue tattoos. He stares at me apologetically. "Sorry," he says to me with his eyes.

My breathing is too rapid. Calm down. Focus. But the force of the last attack has left me trembling, and the anticipation of what might come next sends prickles of terror down my skin.

Suddenly I feel myself lifted off the ground by an invisible curtain of wind. Windwalker's arms are stretched out in my direction. He lifts me higher, then makes a cutting gesture with one hand. Wind rushes past my ears—I fly across the chamber. My back hits the wall hard. I crumple to the ground like a broken doll. I can't do this. I curl into a ball as Windwalker comes closer.

I can't take it anymore. My anger rises—I reach for the energy just out of my grasp. My father's ghost hovers before me. Disoriented, I let out a strangled cry and claw at the open air.

My hand strikes something. Suddenly the wind around me stops. To my shock, Windwalker is hunched several feet away, holding his neck. A thin trickle of blood runs down his hand where I'd raked him with my fingernails. With a start, I realize that I must have struck him in my delirium when I thought I was striking at my father. The rage inside me still churns, a black, seething fury, almost within my reach.

I grit my teeth at him. "Is that it?" I suddenly snap. "Attacking me while I'm defenseless?"

Windwalker stares at me in silence. Then he removes his hand to show me the gash I've caused. "You're far from defenseless." Several thin lines are scored into the skin of his throat. Without a word, he walks over and helps me onto my trembling feet.

"Not too bad," Bandit interjects from across the cavern, without a hint of malice in her voice. "You like being provoked. I can tell."

Gradually, my anger fades into bewilderment. Did she just compliment me?

Windwalker leaves me. All around the cavern, the others whisper among themselves, their voices echoing in the empty space. Finally, Zuko steps forward, his hands folded calmly behind his back.

"Better." He tightens his lips. "But not enough."

I wait there, swaying on my feet, regaining my breath. His eyes sear me to the bone, bringing with them a wave of terror and excitement.

"The problem, Katara," he says as he approaches me, "is that you simply aren't afraid."

My heartbeat quickens. "I am afraid," I whisper. But my words sound unconvincing. What is he going to do to me?

"You know your life is not at risk," he continues. "You don't embrace your bending unless you are staring straight at death. Therefore, you cannot connect with it." He unfolds his hands from behind his back. "Let me see if we can correct that."

A ring of fire bursts to life around us, turning the dark cavern into an illuminated space. The flames stretch to the ceiling. I jump away in terror at the heat against my skin. A scream threatens to bubble up from my throat. No. No, no. Not fire. Anything but that. All I can see are Zuko's eyes locked on mine, bright and determined. So much fire.

I'm not tied to the stake. I'm okay. I'm okay. But I don't believe myself. We are back at my burning—the Guard is going to kill me in front of everyone, happy to watch fire consume me in punishment for my father's death. Tui and La save me. Suddenly, the attacks from the other Freedom Fighters pale in comparison. The flames feel like they're closing in. They are closing in. I can't breathe.

He is forcing me to relive the feeling of staring straight at death.

Zuko reaches me. As flames roar all around us, he leans close enough for me to feel the heat of his body through his robes, the sheer power hidden underneath. The fear that has been building in my chest since the Reaper first attacked me now rushes through me in an unstoppable current, turning my limbs numb. One of his hands touches the small of my back. A violent, irresistible wave of heat emanates from his touch and pulses through my body, scalding me. The flames around us lick at the edges of my sleeves—I watch in terror as the fabric curls, blackening. Everything about Zuko whispers of danger, of murder in the name of righteousness. I'm desperate to pull away. I ache for more. I tremble uncontrollably, caught in the middle.

"I know what you, Katara." His breath scorches the skin of my exposed neck. "Nurture the fear you feel right now. Use it to your advantage."

I try to concentrate, but all I can feel is the heat. The stake, the pile of wood at my feet. The eyes of my dead father, forever haunting my dreams. You are a killer, his ghost whispers. But how many have the Guard killed? How many more will they kill? Wouldn't I have been one of the Guard's victims, had the Freedom Fighters not come to my rescue?

With the fire all around us, with Zuko's hand hot against my back, with his words in my ears and my body still trembling from the others' attacks, the combination of my fear, hatred, anger, and desire finally fuse into one. I can feel the uncontrollable power growing inside me, it rushes through me in waves. Millions of threads that connect me to the water, and I can feel it all, the water seeping through the cracks in the rocks, the sweat dripping off the tip of Zuko's brow. The water calls to me to me, eager for my command. I close my eyes, open my heart to the feeling, and soak in the delight of it all.

"Show me what you can do," Zuko whispers.

Pools of water begin rise up from all around, they gather around us, floating higher and higher, until they reach the cavern's ceiling. Instantly, they freeze covering the entire ceiling. The temperature of the room drops dramatically and snow begins to fall. I'm swept away, both giddy with joy at the feeling of power and terrified that I am completely helpless to it.

Zuko removes his hand.

The sudden lack of contact distracts me, and in a flash, the water falls back to the Earth in it's normal state. Zuko's columns of fire vanish. We're back in the heavy silence of the cavern, as if nothing had happened. My shoulders droop from the effort. Without the fire, the space has returned to its eerie green glow. I glance at the others. They look stricken.

Zuko steps away from me. I sway on weak legs. If I didn't know better, I'd say he seems surprised himself.

All I know is that I want to do it again. I want Zuko to touch me. I want to feel that flow of power, and I want to see the other Fighters' intimidation.

I want something more.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delayed update, but here ya go!I hope you enjoyed reading!**

 **For all of you who mentioned the Young Elites, you're completely right! I loved that book so much and I think Marie Lu is an amazing writer! Her story really inspired me to write this.**

 **Until next time! And I can't wait to hear from you! :)**


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